Heart of the Neverland
by lembas7
Summary: In the beginning or the end, it was always Peter Pan.


**Disclaimer:** Characters and premise of 'Peter Pan' (book, movies or whatever) do not belong to me.

**A/N:** I asked myself, how did it come to be that one boy became the heart of the Neverland? And this is my answer.

**Summary:** In the beginning or the end, it was always Peter Pan.

* * *

HEART OF THE NEVERLAND

He had been the first.

All the other children had fallen out of their prams, and after seven days the Neverland claimed them because their parents didn't want to. Or couldn't, or didn't know how. A few were glad, and some shed tears – but the boys all went to the Neverland anyway.

Peter was the first who went looking for it.

Not because he was so terribly brave; in fact, just the opposite.

_"Soon he shall grow up into a fine man. Work in the office, just like his father."_

Father was a figure that frightened Peter, loud words that made Mother cringe and shout, always with a strange smell on his breath that choked him when Father leant down to kiss Peter goodnight.

He didn't want to be like Father.

_I want always to be a boy and to have fun._

So Peter scrambled from his pram one morning when Mother's head was turned, four years old and hiding in the park through one silvery June night. And then another, and another, as his stomach growled with hunger and then slowly stopped, as he grew thirsty enough to drink the duckpond's water, even though it tasted like dirt and fish and something worse.

Each time darkness crept over the earth, he ducked the rambling figures skulking in thickening shadows, and curled as high as he could climb into the welcoming branches of trees planted alongside the paths. One night, then two – and on the third night, he was so tired he had to climb very slowly. He never thought that he might fall.

Peter was waiting.

When the fairy came, he sat up straight and blinked; the whisper in his ear was a tinkle of little bells with words wisping in between. She smiled at him like Mother had, sweet and with the whole of her body. Then she said, _Come fly away with me._

Solemn little-boy eyes stared at her for only a moment, before mischief grew a bright twinkle in blue depths. _Yes_, Peter said, and _Yes._

Another child might be scared to float, but Peter wasn't. Tink glided above him, giggling with glee, and when Peter looked up at her, fairy dust fell into his eyes and tinted the world with gold.

And through the long journey, past stars and planets, over oceans and through clouds, Peter's eyes gleamed with fairy dust and mischief. And he asked, over and over, _How far?_ And _What will it be like?_ And _Can I . . . _

And Tink darted about his head on gossamer wings and sang triumphantly, _Yes_ and _Yes_ and _Yes!_

Peter was asleep, dreaming of food and pirates and neverending summer, when they came to the island. He woke wrapped in a nest of leaves to the sounds of Tink's bells, and followed the noise past forest sounds to the rooty trunk of a fat tree. Between two roots was a crack just wide enough for a small nose and two blue eyes, so Peter put his face there.

And with fairy dust in his eyes, he could see.

Flitting wings and shimmering little faces, with smiles that made the air ripple; and in the middle of them –

_Oh, Tink,_ said a fairy draped in white. Her bells were slower, clearer. _Not again. What will your Father say?_

_This will be different,_ Tink argued, and the tinkling clash of bells made Peter clap both hands over his ears. _You'll see._

Deeper bells chimed, then, and a fairy clad in green appeared. Peter's mouth made a tiny 'o' at the gold crown on his head.

_Tinkerbell,_ he said. _You haven't_ –

And at the tone, so like his own Father's, Peter gasped.

Silence.

When he opened his eyes, all the fairies were gone, except the three who had revolved in the middle of the fairy court.

The King approached, flitting a trail of dust as he hovered before Peter's fascinated blue eyes. And, _Your Majesty,_ Peter managed, though it came out garbled from lips only recently accustomed to speech. He bowed from his perch on the roots, both hands digging into bark and dirt to keep him from slipping to the grass.

When he blinked up, the King had returned to his Queen, and said only two words. _Very well._

Then Tinkerbell leaned close, let him take the fairy dust deep into his lungs, and told him a secret that hadn't existed an instant before.

In that moment, Peter Pan became the shooting star other children wished upon.

**_Fin_**


End file.
